


Nightmares

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [33]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Gen, M/M, POV Brian Kinney, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Past Child Abuse, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 15:00:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1783195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gus is having nightmares and it leaves Brian at a loss. He and Justin try their best to figure out what's going on and help Gus through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

**_"DADDY!"_ **

Gus' hysterical scream cuts through the silence of our apartment like a gunshot. Panicked, I vault out of bed and bolt towards his room. I can feel my heart pounding violently in my chest as his screams crescendo. By the time I wrench his bedroom door open, my heart is practically lodged in my throat.

The sight that greets me comes as a complete shock. Gus is lying on the floor, tangled in his sheets, screaming and kicking his legs as he tries to free himself. I scoop him up and he clings to me, sobbing, his body shaking with the force of it.

My head is spinning with thoughts muddled by fear:  _What the fuck happened? Did he have a nightmare? What the fuck kind of nightmare was it?!_

As I try to remain calm, Gus clings to me and claws at me, seemingly desperate to get closer. In his quest, he wraps his legs around my middle. It's then I notice his pants are soaking wet. Gus seems to realise it at the same time and he wails, "I'm so sorry!"

I cringe at his apology; I don't want him feeling like he has to apologise for this. As whimpered sorries continue to tumble out of his mouth, I feel a wash of nausea come over me. Suddenly, we're not in Gus' bedroom anymore. We're not in New York.  _We're_  not anywhere at all.

I'm taken back to Pittsburgh, decades earlier, in a most unwelcome flashback. Like a kick to the gut, the intrusive recollections force me to remember when I used to wet the bed as a kid. I try to pull back, but I can't. I'm forced to relive it.

It was just before my sixth birthday. I was sick with the flu at the time and could barely move. My mother found me lying in the damp sheets and snapped at me to get up, tossed clean pajamas at me, then snarled at me while she changed the sheets. There was a lot of talk of taking my birthday presents away and cancelling my party, with her hurling words at me like 'filthy' and 'disgusting', telling me I wasn't ready to turn six. I remember crawling back into the clean bed, horribly feverish and collapsing on the inside from humiliation. I lay there all alone, wishing the fever would swallow me whole.

The second time - the  _last_ time, I made damn sure of that - was even worse. My mother left for the weekend to visit with friends, leaving Claire and I alone with my father. He disappeared somewhere for most of the night and came back smelling of booze, unaware we'd passed the time by telling each other scary stories. I woke up halfway through the night, gasping for breath and twisted in soaked sheets. Disoriented, I went to find mom. Instead, I found my father, who cracked me across the face and called me something awful. I can't remember what. I only remember spending the rest of the night trying to clean the sheets myself, my cheek burning and bruised, my feet like icicles on the cold laundry floor, shaking from fear that had less to do with the nightmare and more to do with what dad would do to me if it ever happened again. It didn't. I made sure it didn't.

Suddenly, there's the ghostly feeling of my father's backhand burning my face. I wince, hating that he still has a way of getting to me, even now. As I return to the present moment (thank fuck), I hug Gus close and tell him, "It's okay. It's okay. Don't be sorry."

He mashes his face against my shoulder, his tears accompanied by little hiccups and tortured whines. I run my hand up and down his back, where his shirt is clinging to him, all damp with perspiration. "Let's get you into a nice warm bath, hey?"

He murmurs in agreement and I carry him to the bathroom. Very carefully, since I still have Gus burrowed against me and as such only have the use of one arm, I kneel down and start running him a bath. There's a crate by the bath full of Gus' things, freshly restocked by Justin. I open it and pull out some toys and toss them into the tub, then retrieve a bottle of bubble bath. I hold up the bottle and ask Gus, "Do you want to pour it in?"

He loves doing the pouring, whether it's bath-time or breakfast-time or he's painting with Justin. He insists on it, pleading for us to trust him with the task and then taking great pride and care in his duties. But tonight, Gus shakes his head and moans sadly, "You do it, daddy."

Daddy. He hasn't called me that in a while. He transitioned to 'dad' not long after his seventh birthday. I kiss the top of his head and uncap the bottle. The sickly scent of chemicals masquerading as bubblegum fills the room. I pour half the bottle into the tub and turn Gus around in my arms so he can watch the bubbles rise up. He wipes his nose, sniffing as he watches them froth up, all pink and shiny, then turns back to throw himself in my arms again. I grab him a tissue and wipe his nose, then grab another and wipe his face. His eyes are red from crying and his brown hair is slick with sweat, stuck to his forehead in a big mess. I run my fingers through it, combing it back for him. Fuck, does he look like me.

I wonder for a moment how my parents could do what they did to me and Claire - all the yelling, the sneers, the threats. The way our many houses never felt like homes, but miniature prisons. The fear they provoked. The blows they landed... slaps from my mother, shoves and backhands from my father. And, somehow, worst of all - the way they pretended everything was perfectly okay, like we were normal and they loved us and each other. I look at Gus' perfect little face and can't even begin to understand what was wrong with my parents. I could spend days conjuring words for it, textbook terms that fit the mold, but why waste my time? They were terrible parents and terrible people. I have my perfect son right in front of me and my time will be best spent looking after him.

Gus lets out a little sob from the back of his throat, and lifts his arms up. I help him out of his clothes, gently but quickly, since the bathroom is chilly. I think of my feet on those cold laundry tiles all those years ago and nudge him onto the bathmat. He starts crying and apologising again when I peel his wet pants off; I shush him gently and tell him it's okay, it's okay, it's okay. I get another tissue and dab at his face. Gus closes his eyes and breathes deep.

I test the water, swishing it around to make sure it's not too hot or too cold. Gus whimpers next to me. I scoop up a handful of bubbles and slick them over his hair, creating a big beehive of bubbles. Then I dot a bubble nose onto him. The whimpers slowly turn into soft, watery giggles. I pick him up and put him in the tub. "Is the water okay?"

"It's good," Gus whispers, hidden among the bubbles. "Will you stay?"

"Of course I will." I sit down on top of his bathroom crate. We haven't had bath-time together in a while - he's old enough now to bathe himself. He's old enough to do a lot of things himself, actually, and he often insists upon it whether it's choosing his clothes, dressing himself, packing his bag, preparing a snack. It's a shock to the system to suddenly have him wanting a helping hand, but a nice one. I'm not ready for him to not need me yet.

"Will you wash my hair, daddy?" He starts and adds hastily, "Please. Please will you wash my hair?"

"Sure," I agree. 

"Can I please try your shampoo?" He blinks prettily at me, the way he always does when he wants to win someone over. I smile and nod, and he grins triumphantly. 

I fetch my shampoo and conditioner from the shower and return to Gus, who's stretching out his hands to grab them from me. I hand him the bottles and he starts reading them aloud. "Mint clean... invig... invig-or-ating shampoo. I like mint."

"Me too," I say. "Here, hand me the shampoo."

Gus hands it over and starts studying the conditioner bottle, voicing the words carefully.  _New for-mule-ah. Formula. Refreshing. Strengthens and ree-pears. Repairs._  

I pour some shampoo into my hand and tell him, "Dunk under the water for a second, Sonny Boy."

He dives under and resurfaces quickly, shaking bubbles off. They spray all over me and the walls. Gus' eyes go wide. "Sorry, daddy."

I splash him. "Don't worry about it. Come here."

He moves closer and tips his head towards me. I squeeze some shampoo into my palm and lather it up, then run my hands through his hair. Gus grabs one of his toys and skips it through the bubbles, humming softly while I wash his hair. When his hair's all squeaky clean, I tap his shoulder and say, "Pass me the cup."

He grabs the rainbow cup that's floating beside him. I fill it up with water and rinse his hair once, twice, three times. Gus squirms happily. "That feels nice."

"Good." 

"It smells nice, too." He hands me the conditioner and picks up one of his dolls, making her dance. As I dollop conditioner into his hair and work it through, the doll leaps and twirls and cartwheels through the bathtub.

"What's the time?"

I glance at the clock on the counter. "A little after midnight."

"That's late!" Gus exclaims. He turns and looks at me guiltily. "Sorry, daddy."

"Don't be, Sonny Boy." I rinse the conditioner out of his hair. "You know how we say it's important to apologise?"

"Yeah."

"That's for when you've made a mistake. Maybe if you said something or did something hurtful. Did you do anything like that tonight?"

Gus thinks, chewing on his lip. "Nope."

"No, you didn't. So don't say sorry." I set my hands on his shoulders and kiss his forehead. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You just had a nightmare, that's all."

"And I wet the bed like a baby," he says, his eyes filling with tears again. 

"It happens. It happened to me when I was about your age."

"Really?"

"Really. It's normal, okay?"

"Okay." Gus blinks away his tears and sinks deeper into the bubbles. "Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you make me a cocoa? Like how Jus makes it?"

"Of course." I swish my hand through the water first and find it's cooled off a fair bit. I turn the tap to hot and let it run, instructing Gus, "See the clock? When it gets to 12.06, turn the tap back off. Okay?"

"Mmm-hmm," he mumbles, turning his gaze to the clock obediently. I grab his pajamas and go to change my clothes and his sheets, then deposit the bundle in the laundry hamper. The pipes shudder softly; Gus has turned the tap off, right on the dot of 12.06. I can hear him splashing about happily, humming something to himself the way Justin does while he's painting or cooking. He's even humming that same song that Justin was listening to last night when he made us spaghetti. Smiling to myself at the thought of how similar they are these days, I make my way into the kitchen.

Justin's idea of making cocoa involves sugar, sugar, and more sugar, all combined in a giant mug that might as well be a soup bowl. Apparently the recipe is one he and Daphne perfected long ago during their weekly slumber parties. They made it last Christmas, laughing off Jen's admonishments and claims that the drink single-handedly caused Justin's dental bills to skyrocket. I can't watch them drink it without gagging, it looks so repulsively sweet.

While I do have some vague idea of how their death-by-sugar cocktail is assembled, I'd much rather Justin show up and make it himself. Gus is a connoisseur of sugary things and will probably know immediately if I've made the slightest misstep. Still, it's worth a shot. While the cocoa is heating on the stove, I fetch the chocolate buttons and the marshmallows. Best I can remember, the buttons go on the bottom of the cup and the marshmallows go on top, after the cocoa has been poured in and sprinkled with cinnamon and brown sugar. While the cocoa starts to bubble, I set the mug on a plate and surround it with Mallomars - Gus' favourite. Then I pour the cocoa into the cup and fill it to the brim with marshmallows.

While they melt, I try to call Justin. It goes to voicemail. Fuck. I could use his help with a lot more than just the cocoa. Why isn't he home yet?

When I return to the bathroom, Gus is splashing around with a toy airplane. He grins at me. "Dad, I'm all pruney!"

He holds up a hand; his fingers are all puckered. I set the plate down on the vanity and say, "Time to get out then - we can't have you shrivelling up. What would moms and Justin say?"

"They'd be mad but they'd also think it was funny," he giggles. "Imagine me all tiny and shrivelled! Like an itty bitty raisin."

I grab him a towel and hold it up. He clambers out of the bath and throws himself at me, and I bundle him up like we used to do after bath-time. I dry his hair and cover it with kisses, while Gus laughs and squirms in my arms. He looks at me with his big blue eyes and his winning smile. "Can I sleep in your bed?"

"Of course." I carry him and the cocoa into the bedroom, one in each hand. Gus flops onto the bed, eyeing the cocoa hungrily when I set it on the nightstand. "I'll go get you some PJs."

"No!" Gus' eyes go wide. "Don't leave me."

Well, that's my cue to ask him about the nightmare. He looks fucking terrified at the prospect of me walking a few feet down the hall. I grab him one of Justin's t-shirts and slide it over his head, letting Gus pop his arms through the sleeves. He picks at the soft blue cotton. "Is this Jus' shirt?"

"Yeah."

Gus smiles and wraps his arms around himself. "I love it. When's he coming home?"

"As soon as he can," I say, hoping that that's going to be really fucking soon. "He's been working late a lot."

"How come?"

As I pull the sheets back for him, Gus crawls into the middle of the bed, folding his legs. I tuck him in carefully, settling some pillows behind him so he can sit up comfortably.

"He has some deadlines coming up for commissions. He's taking tomorrow off, though."

"Cool." Gus beams as I settle the plate of cocoa and cookies in his lap. "Thanks, dad."

I sit cross-legged across from him, watching him swirl his fingers through the melted marshmallow goo. He smiles and sticks them in his mouth, mumbling, "You got it just right."

"Thanks, kiddo."

He grins a big grin, all sticky with marshmallow, and offers me a Mallomar. I accept it and we eat and drink in silence for a few minutes. I try and think of what to say next; I know I need to talk to him about the nightmare. Linds has occasionally mentioned Gus having scary dreams and waking up crying, but she never mentioned screeching or bed-wetting. This seems like it might be worse than your garden variety nightmare. But what the fuck do I say to him? 

I had nightmares all the time when I was little. There were those induced by the scary stories Claire and I told each other, and those my own parents inspired. I remember one where I was all alone in the house, and it was dark and cold, and all of a sudden my mother was standing in the doorway, glaring at me hatefully. In the dream, I would wonder where Claire was. She was nowhere. My mother would turn away, then my father's hands grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back into the darkness. I would wake up from this, fighting the urge to shout for help because then they would wake up and the nightmare would become real.

What does Gus have to fear? Was this some childish nightmare of ghouls and ghosts, or does he have something worse plaguing him? Bile rises in my throat. I need him to be okay. He has to be okay. I have to know what it was he was screaming about.

If Justin were here, he would tell me to talk to Gus. Talk it out, hear what he has to say. I suppose I might as well give that a try.

"So, Sonny Boy," I begin, feeling completely out of my depth and hoping desperately that he doesn't pick up on it, "How about you tell me what the nightmare was about?"

Gus tenses up. His eyes flicker with fear and his lip wobbles. "I don't wanna."

"Talking helps," I say, despising how much I sound like some insipid after-school special.

"I don't wanna," he repeats, his voice trembling. "It was scary."

"Okay, but-"

"It was so scary!" He wails, throwing himself on his tummy. "Don't make me say it! It was too scary!"

He starts sobbing, big heaving sobs that lurch him up and down. I grab him and cradle him like I used to when he was just a baby, horrified at the sight of his chest heaving with the force of his anguish. I hold him and hold him and hold him, and tell him again and again and again that  _it's okay, we're safe, I'm here, we're fine, it's all going to be okay, it's all going to be okay, it's all going to be okay..._

Eventually he falls asleep, I think from sheer exhaustion more than anything else. I feel completely hopeless. 

Justin comes home around 2am, tiptoeing through the door with paint streaked over his clothes and tired circles under his eyes. This gives me some reprieve from the guilt; I feel a burst of admiration. He works so hard, and I want to tell him every day how proud I am of him. But now's not the time. Justin looks at Gus in the bed and frowns worriedly, about to speak when I hold up my hand and mouth  _nightmare._

Justin mouths back,  _is he okay?_

I shrug.

_Are you?_

I think of Gus screaming, screeching, sobbing, and wish I could cry. I shake my head. Justin's face falls a little. He offers me a tiny, gentle smile, then mouths,  _I love you._

I smile back, then Gus stirs in my arms. I hold him closer and kiss his soft brown hair; it's curling a little, halfway from damp to dry. He stills. I keep my hand clasped over his heart, feeling the soft thrum. Justin changes into his pajamas and comes over to what's normally my side of the bed, since Gus and I are curled up on his. He slides in behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist. His fingertips are cold from the walk home, but his lips are warm when he presses a kiss to the nape of my neck.

He slips off to sleep before I do. I lie there, watching Gus and watching the clock, my heartbeat faltering every time Gus moves. I soothe him back to peacefulness with gentle kisses, calming him in this way no less than six times before I manage to drift off to sleep myself.

*

When I wake up, it's to the vague realisation I'm alone in the bed. I don't get up right away. I'm too exhausted. I almost doze off again when Gus' tiny footfalls come padding up the hallway, accelerating in pace until he's running. He hurtles onto the bed and crouches beside me, and as I open one eye, I'm met with a big smile. He whispers, "Jus said to wake up."

"Did he, now?"

"Breakfast is ready."

"That's nice." I close my eyes again. Gus isn't having it. He laughs and jumps on top of me, tickling me all along my ribs. 

"Wake up, dad!" 

Laughter bursts out of me as he tickles my sides. Gus giggles and giggles, not letting up. Justin comes in with a breakfast tray, grinning as he sees us.

"Tickle him harder, Gus," he advises, like the traitorous little shit he is. "Under the arms is a good spot."

Gus does just that, until finally I call uncle and sit up. Then he wriggles into my lap and cozies up against me. I hug him and say, "Good morning."

"Morning," Gus smiles.

I glower at Justin. "Good morning, Sunshine."

Justin grins as I mouth  _traitor_ at him. He sets down the breakfast tray, which he's piled high with thick slices of toast, rashers of bacon, warm bagels, and bowls of fresh fruit. He offers Gus the bottle of orange juice. "Will you do the honours, Gussy?"

"Sure," Gus says happily, grabbing the bottle. "Hold the glasses, please."

Justin unstacks three glasses and holds them steady while Gus fills them carefully. We thank him and he beams. There's no trace of distress anywhere on his face. It's almost like it never even happened. I'd almost believe that, given how calm and collected Gus is, but I feel exhausted from the lack of sleep and there's still a lump in my throat that won't go away. 

*

"So what was the nightmare?" Justin asks, grabbing my coffee to steal another sip. He suggested taking Gus to the park, which has worked out nicely. We're sitting on a bench across from the playground while Gus plays happily, giving us some time alone to talk everything out.

"He wouldn't tell me." I watch Gus climbing the rope ladder, confident and carefree. "He was a mess. I've never seen anything like it."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there."

I steal back my coffee and kiss his cheek. "It's okay. How's it all going at the studio?"

"When I left last night my fingers felt arthritic! I'm making progress though. It's exhausting as shit, but exciting. You should come by and see."

"I will." I slap his hand away when he reaches for the coffee again. "You said you didn't want one at the cafe."

"I don't want one, I just want to share yours." He nuzzles in close. "It's helping to keep me warm. Please?"

"Asshole," I say, smirking, but I still relinquish the coffee and let him drink it. 

Licking foam from his lips, Justin asks, "Did you ever have nightmares when you were a kid?"

I suppose at some stage I ought to give him a proper answer to that and confess all, but for now I'd prefer to be evasive. "Who doesn't?"

Justin smiles and nods in concession. "I had pretty normal ones when I was little. You know, getting chased by something scary or falling or something. Nothing terribly dramatic. Then Daph and I went to this slumber party for a friend's birthday - Ellie Moss, I think. Yeah, it was Ellie."

He chuckles quietly to himself and steals another sip from my cup. I take it back and nudge him, prompting him to continue laughingly, "There were, like, twenty kids there. Ellie's big brother came and told us this story about their neighbour, this old man across the road who apparently had razor-sharp teeth and who could see us from across the street. Ellie kicked him out before he could finish, but of course none of us were done talking about it. There were kids there who lived in the same street and they started saying how he had lizard skin, how there were binoculars lined up in every window of his house, how they lost a baseball in his backyard and couldn't get it because he was snarling on the back porch like a rabid dog, how he would lure children in and lock them in a dark closet with all of his pet spiders. It got worse and worse and worse, like this really twisted round robin. Then we all looked out the window and he was sitting on his stoop, smoking! I don't think he was even looking in our direction but everyone flipped out. Daph and I were so scared that when everyone else was asleep, we moved my sleeping bag into the closet and slept in there together, in the same sleeping bag."

"How adorable," I tease. 

He laughs. "Mrs. Moss lost her shit when she found us in there together. She called our parents and Daph and I both got grounded for, like, a week. But we were ten! We weren't doing anything. I don't think we even knew what it meant to do anything, not really. Not yet. Besides, we  _both_ had a  _huge_  crush on Ellie's big brother."

I nudge him. "Was he hot?"

"Crazy hot," Justin grins. "That was half the reason we went to the slumber party to begin with! But that story was fucked up. I had nightmares for months after that. So did Daph."

"What put a stop to it?" I hope against hope that he'll suggest some magic solution, some quick fix that will guarantee Gus nothing but happy dreams from now on. 

Justin shrugs, his eyes tracking Gus as he slides down the twisty slide. "We took the long way home from the park one day, down Ellie's street, and the neighbour was sitting on his stoop. He was smoking and petting a cat. Totally normal. He even waved to us. No lizard skin, no spiders, no snarling or drooling. He actually kind of looked like Daph's grandfather, who was always a total sweetheart. We realized that Ellie's big brother, hot though he may have been, was totally full of shit."

"And the nightmares stopped?"

"Yeah, they stopped." Justin takes my hand in his, and I know he knows what's worrying me. He has a knack for that. He assures me, "Gus will be okay. We can help him through this."

"How?"

"Let's see how he goes tonight - if he has another one, we'll talk about it properly and figure out a way through." Justin kisses my shoulder. "Don't worry. It's all going to be okay."

*

By the time Gus goes to bed, it seems he's well and truly forgotten all about last night and all of its horrors. Justin reads to him and by the third picture-book, Gus is fast asleep. We slink out of his room and close the door almost all the way, leaving him sleeping peacefully, basked in the soft glow of his night light as it casts patterns all over the walls.

We sneak into our room and ease the door shut, then lock it for the timebeing. Justin's on me in an instant, kissing me greedily and tearing at my clothes. We end up on the floor, me moving inside him with slow thrusts, both of us laughing at how gentle and quiet we're trying to be. Trembling with laughter, Justin whispers, "This is so serene."

"So pristine," I add. He swallows our burst of laughter with another kiss. To help us along, I grab his hips, staying inside him as I roll us over, letting him straddle me. Justin stifles a groan, his eyes falling shut and his mouth stretching open. I clamp my hand over it and he does the same to me, then rides me with abandon. Even the grasp of my hand isn't enough to completely muffle his moan when he comes, but I don't care, not when he's moving the way he is, his hips rolling, back arching, cock pulsing as it spills all over my sweat-slicked stomach. I pull my hand away from his mouth and he gasps, then leans in to kiss me while I grab his ass and come, thrusting deep inside him, feeling his hand tugging in my hair and his tongue sliding over mine.

Then we go again in the shower, less careful since the water swallows up a lot of sound - or at least, we hope it does. But we check on Gus before we go to bed, and he's still sleeping. Justin nudges me, pointing to the swirling stars the night-light is casting around the room. He whispers, "Remind me to paint this. I think Linds would like it."

"Fuck Linds," I say. "Paint it for me."

"Greedy!" Justin laughs and tugs me back down the hallway to our room. "I'll do one for each of you."

We get in maybe an hour or two of sleep before the screaming starts. Justin bolts upright just as I'm leaping over him. We run down the hall, almost falling over each other in our rush to get to Gus. This time he's still in his bed and the sheets are dry, but he's wide-eyed and wailing at an unthinkable volume. I pick him up and start chanting,  _it's okay, it's okay, it's okay._ Justin wraps his arms around both of us. Gus convulses between us, and we exchange a look. I think to myself,  _at least we're as scared as each other._ It's some small comfort to know I'm not alone in being completely and utterly terrified.

"What is it, Sonny Boy?" I ask, trying not to let Gus hear how freaked out I am. "What's wrong?"

"Daddy," Gus whimpers. "Daddy, it wasn't safe. It wasn't safe!"

"What wasn't safe?"

He looks up at me with big, teary eyes and starts sobbing again. Justin strokes his back and asks, "Gussy, do you want to come and sleep with us?"

Gus nods with rapid, urgent little jerks of his head. He twists around and latches onto Justin. I pick up his teddy bear and we head back to our room.

*

Over breakfast the next morning, while Justin and Gus draw together, I calculate that I've had roughly nine hours of sleep in the past forty-eight hours. I'm about to fall headfirst into my pancakes, but I know I won't sleep another wink until I know what's wrong with Gus. After breakfast, he runs off to have a shower, and Justin and I agree it's time to talk it out.

When Gus returns, he's dressed and ready to go, his backpack slung over his shoulder. He frowns when he sees us in our pajamas, sitting on the couch. "Aren't we going out?"

"Gussy, can you come and sit for a moment?"

Gus eyes Justin suspiciously, then casts a similar glance my way. "Why?"

"We want to talk to you about something." Justin pats the spot on the couch between us. "Come on."

"Come on, Sonny Boy," I say, and Gus sighs and heads over. He ignores Justin's invitation to sit with us and plops down in the armchair, slouching with his arms folded across his chest like a barrier. 

"What do you want to talk about?" Gus mumbles, like he knows already and is seriously pissed off about it.

"We want - we  _need_ ," Justin cleverly amends, "To talk about your nightmares."

"What nightmares?" Gus asks with masterfully feigned innocence. 

"Gussy," Justin says, a gentle warning. "Come on. Your dad and I are worried. We want to know what you've been dreaming about."

Gus sticks his thumb in his mouth. Justin sighs. " _Gussy._ No."

Gus yanks his thumb out, grumbling sullenly. The thumb trick worked for a very long while, so it's not surprising he's still trying it. He's been doing it since he was four - sticking his thumb in his mouth and sucking forlornly, with big, sad eyes and fluttering eyelashes. It melted your heart to see it and Gus was instantly delivered whatever he wanted, be it candy or a later bedtime or a new toy. It was a clever little trick and we all fell for it for longer than I'd care to admit.

Mel was the first to figure out it was bullshit. She tried warning the rest of us; I was the only one who listened. Linds and Justin took longer to acknowledge Gus was playing them, and during their period of denial they caved every time to his whims. Of course, as he revelled in these victories, Gus got greedy. He used it more and more until Linds and Justin finally cracked and admitted it was all a ploy. Now it only works on Deb and Jen, who probably know by now that it's a trick but love him too much not to indulge him. 

"Gus," I say, imploringly, "Talk to us. We want to know what scared you so badly."

He kicks his legs against the chair. "Nothing. No-thing."

"Gus-"

"I said it was nothing!"

" _Gus."_

"I can't tell you!" He scowls at us. "I can't tell you 'cause you'll get mad."

Justin looks at me, bewildered, then asks, "Why would we get mad?"

"Because," Gus says, and then mumbles the rest unintelligibly. 

"Would you mind trying that again, Sonny Boy?"

He draws his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them, inching back in the chair until he's almost swallowed by its size. "I did something I wasn't supposed to."

"Let's start with that, then," I suggest. "And we won't be mad. We just need you to be honest."

Gus looks at us curiously, like he's trying to assess the validity of that statement. Justin adds, "We promise, Gus. Nobody's going to be angry, we just want you to talk to us. Okay?"

"Okay," Gus mumbles. He sighs and admits quietly, "I snuck in here the other night."

"In here? You're allowed in here," I say, glancing around the living room. There's no place in the apartment he's not allowed, so I really have no idea what he's talking about. Justin seems similarly perplexed.

"I snuck in here after bedtime," Gus mutters, clearly hating to admit it. He must notice that Justin and I are still confused as shit, because he huffs and drags the rest of the confession out frustratedly: "During your movie night."

 _Fuck._ Oh, goddamnit. Justin tenses up beside me. From the corner of my eye, I can see the colour draining from his face. Oh, fucking fuck. 

"Gus _sy_ ," Justin says, the second syllable trembling unstably. "Which night are you talking about?"

"The scary movie night on Thursday."

Well, that's something. Justin sags with relief and I'm about ready to do the same. On Wednesday 'watching a movie' involved handjobs which progressed into blowjobs which ended up with Justin bent over the coffee table while I fucked him from behind. At least Gus didn't sneak in and see  _that._ I mean, we'd secretly switched the baby monitor on to keep tabs on him - we're not  _completely_  stupid, after all - but the thing cuts out occasionally and it's not like we were paying perfect attention to it. 

Our Thursday movie night was much less risqué. We admitted it was ridiculously idiotic to fuck out in the open with no doors to close or locks to latch and settled for actually watching a movie. Well, admittedly there was some making out. Half an hour, tops. And we were fully-clothed. If he walked in during that, it's nothing he hasn't seen before.

Except for the movie, of course. Shit. It was some bloodbath of a French horror movie, the kind Justin gets out when Daphne visits so he can watch her squirm and tease her for it. She then retaliates by telling me embarrassing stories over breakfast, grinning big while Justin blushes and tries  _\- very_ unconvincingly - to deny it. The best one, Daphne and I have agreed, was when he called me 'the face of God'. Justin practically turned purple when Daphne shared that delightful anecdote.

"Which part did you see?" Justin asks, his voice still wavering nervously. Good question, although I don't know that I really want to hear the answer. Was it the part with the chainsaw? The gun? The scene where someone got decapitated? I can just imagine the shitstorm that will ensue when Mel and Linds find out about this.  _Fuck._

Gus' eyes well up with tears. "Th-there was a lady hurting people. Chasing them through a forest. There was lots of blood. She killed them! She- she- she came into my dreams and she was here- I was  _so scared,_ she hurt you!"

"Come here," I urge, and he practically flies into our arms. "We're sorry. We're sorry, Sonny Boy."

"We shouldn't have had it on," Justin says, curling up around Gus protectively. "Sorry, Gussy."

" _I'm_  sorry! I was s'posed to be in bed," he cries. "Don't tell moms. They'll be mad again."

Again? Shit, of course. Before Linds and Mel left for the week, Linds said something about Gus breaking his 'bedtime promise'. I stroke his hair comfortingly and remind him, "We're not mad, but you need to remember what you agreed to, kiddo. You get in bed and you stay there unless you need something. Did you need something the other night?"

Gus shakes his head. I pat his hair. "Then you need to keep your promise. Right?"

"Right." Gus snuggles into my arms, sniffling and shaking.

"Gussy," Justin says softly, running his hand up and down Gus' back soothingly. "You know that movie wasn't real, right? It's just pretend."

"It looked real!"

"It wasn't. None of it was. It was just a story, and nobody's going to hurt you or us. You're safe. We're safe."

Gus looks up at Justin, blinking, big crocodile tears crawling down his cheeks. "Promise?"

Justin cups Gus' face in his hand. "Cross my heart."

A hint of a smile appears on Gus' face. He reaches over and draws a cross on Justin's chest, then one on mine, then one on his own. "Cross our hearts."

Justin throws his arms around Gus, bundling him close and clinging to him. I wrap my arms around both of them. Gus mumbles, "There was a lot of blood."

"It was fake, Gussy," Justin says softly. "Like the kind your moms make at Halloween to decorate the pumpkins."

"Oh," Gus frowns thoughtfully. "They've never made that much. Huh."

He scrubs at his face a little and murmurs, "So it was all make believe?"

"All of it," I say firmly. "Every last itty bit. You know, we didn't even hear you come in."

He brightens suddenly. "I was playing covert ops. I wanted to watch the movie with you but I knew it was bedtime, so I crawled in here on my tummy like a spy."

"More like a worm," Justin teases. "Like a wriggly, iggly little worm."

He tickles Gus, and Gus shrieks and darts away from him. "I'm not a worm!"

"No, you're just very sneaky."

"You two were kissing," he rolls his eyes. " _Of course._ No wonder you didn't notice. I crawled in here and I did behind the couch like a spy."

He pauses and adds solemnly, "I won't do it again, I promise."

"Good boy," we say at the same time. Justin flashes a smile at me, like he always does when we unintentionally do coupley shit like talking in unison. I poke his side and give him a look. He just keeps smiling.

Gus points to his backpack, lying by the front door. "Can we go out now?"

"We need to get dressed." Justin ruffles his hair. "Why don't you look at the list on the fridge and choose some things for us to do?"

"How many?"

"Three. Four tops. Remember moms are back tomorrow, so you can save some stuff for us all to do together."

Gus nods and bolts into the kitchen to peruse the list of activities Justin brainstormed before his arrival. He's a real pro at this dad stuff. I tell him so as we go to get changed; he smiles from ear to ear and replies, "You are, too."

I shrug. Justin bats my arm and insists, "You  _are._ You're amazing. Who do you think I'm learning it all from?"

Intense gratitude floods through me. I shut the bedroom door behind us and lock it for the timebeing. Justin's eyes light up as he anticipates my next move. Clever Sunshine. I tackle him onto the bed and kiss him. 

"Quiet," he urges half-heartedly. "He's wide awake right now! And a spy, apparently. We'll have lots to tell Mel and Linds tomorrow."

Ah, what fun that will be. Justin senses my trepidation and murmurs, "It'll be okay. It's not like they're perfect. They don't expect us to be, either. We'll talk to them and it'll be okay."

"You know, I was considering scapegoating you, Sunshine," I admit, brushing his hair out of his face. "But since I love you so much, I'll take the blame."

"It was an honest mistake. I really think they'll understand." Justin kisses me sweetly, then switches tracks at lightning speed and asks indignantly, "You were considering  _scapegoating_  me?!"

"You picked the movie."

Justin rolls his eyes. "Hey, at least he didn't walk in on Wednesday night. Can you even imagine?"

"Then I definitely would have had to scapegoat you."

"Why?!"

"The handjobs were your idea. So were the blowjobs."

Justin grimaces guiltily, then arches a brow and challenges, "And the fucking me over the coffee table? Totally your idea!"

"That was simply a natural progression. You started it, Sunshine."

"Yeah, but then there's the whole chicken-or-the-egg debate to be had."

"Meaning?"

"You seduced me when I was seventeen. My formative years have been spent in your company!" He smirks. "So although I may have physically initiated the handjobs and blowjobs the other night, they could very easily be traced back to you and your formative influence over me."

"I seduced you?"

Clearly stifling laughter, he replies, "Yeah."

"That's a rather simplistic description. You're leaving out a very important detail, don't you think?"

"Which is?"

I lower my voice and growl, "You were  _begging_ for it."

Justin's gaze turns scorching. He kisses me like he did the first time, like he did the other night, like he's thirsting for it and can't possibly get enough.

We only stop when we hear Gus call authoritatively, "Studio! Ferry! Movies! Times Square!"

He then adds, as an obvious afterthought, "Please?"

Justin bursts out laughing.

"Times Square," I groan. Justin jumps up to get changed. "Can I bring a flask of something?"

He grins and shakes his head, tossing me my jeans and a shirt. I get dressed more sluggishly than Gus would probably approve of. Justin notices and suggests, "Let's drop home for a nap before Times Square. You look like you could use it."

"I'm not a kindergartner," I grouse, but really, it doesn't sound like a terrible idea. "I suppose if you insist."

"I do." Justin pulls his sweater over his head, then studies me curiously. "Other than the mild sleep deprivation... are you okay?"

Aside from the guilt, the panic, the terror... "Sure."

He smiles and touches my cheek. "You're a great dad. And Gus is going to be fine. We'll have fun today, watch him carefully tonight, see how he goes, and we'll talk to Linds and Mel about it tomorrow. Between the four of us? He's going to be okay. Hell, he's going to be amazing. Just like you."

I kiss Justin and ruffle his hair. He squawks in protest and ducks into the bathroom to tidy it. Touched and emboldened by his vote of confidence, I head out of the bedroom to find Gus.

He's bouncing on his heels by the front door, all ready to go, dressed in his coat and scarf. Justin is right - he will be amazing. He's already so grown up. Gus hands me my coat and gloves, nodding approvingly as I slip them on. Justin runs down the hall to join us, grabbing his keys and his satchel. I look between the two of them, silently drawing a comparison between my family back when I was a kid and the family I have now. They couldn't be more different. Justin smiles at me, probably knowing what I'm thinking, and saying without saying it:  _it's all going to be okay._

With a big grin, Gus reaches his arms up to me and asks, "Are you ready, dad?"

I lift him up and hold him close. He snuggles into my embrace. "I'm ready, Sonny Boy. Let's go."

**The End**


End file.
